NO EXIT EXCEPT FOR MY ASS
by angst.org
Summary: "NO EXIT" by Jean-Paul Sartre is an existential classic. But WHAT IF instead of discussing philosophy via metaphors, the characters just had sex instead? Let's find out.
1. Garcin's Entrance

GARCIN (enters, accompanied by the VALET, and glances around him): So here we  
are?

VALET: Yes, Mr. GARCIN.

GARCIN: And this is what it looks like?

VALET: Yes.

GARCIN: Second Empire furniture, I observe... Well, well, I dare say one gets used to it  
in time. I'd also get used to seeing you. (checks out VALET, his eyes scan up and down the VALET's body. VALET notices, but doesn't seem to mind.)

VALET: (smiling) Some do, some don't.

GARCIN: Are all the rooms like this one? Or do we have to share you?

VALET: How could they be? We cater for all sorts: kinky and virgin, for instance.  
What use would they have for a Second Empire chair? What use would virgins have for me?

GARCIN: And what use do you suppose I have for one? Or you? Do you know who I was?. ..Oh,  
well, it's no great matter. And, to tell the truth, I had quite a habit of living among  
furniture that I didn't relish, and in false positions with people I didn't relish. I'd even come to like them. Even virgins have their uses of interesting company, however unlikely. Bogus in bogus, so to speak.

VALET: And you'll find that living in a Second Empire drawing-room has its points.

GARCIN: Really?. ..Yes, yes, I dare say. ..Still I certainly didn't expect— this! You know  
what they tell us down there?

VALET: What about?

GARCIN: About.. .this- residence.

VALET: Really, sir, how could you believe such cock-and-bull stories? Told by people  
who'd never set foot here. For, of course, if they had—

GARCIN: Quite so. But I say, where are the instruments of torture?

VALET: The what?

GARCIN: The racks and red-hot pincers and all the other paraphernalia? Whips and vibrators and nipple clamps?

VALET: Ah, you must have your little joke, sir. Of course, if you would like...

GARCIN: My little joke? Oh, I see. No, I wasn't joking.

VALET: That's good! So you haven't yet got over your— what-do-you-call-it?— sense of  
human dignity? Excuse my smiling.

GARCIN: I'll ask you to be more polite. I quite realize the position I'm in, but I won't  
tolerate...

VALET: Sorry, sir. No offense meant. But all our guests ask me the same questions.  
Silly questions, if you'll pardon my saying so. Where's the torture-chamber? That's the  
first thing they ask, all of them. But after a bit, when they've got their nerve back, they  
start in about their dildos and what-not. Good heavens, Mr. GARCIN, can't you use  
your brains? What, I ask you, would be the point of using a dildo?

GARCIN: Yes, of course you're right. And why should one want to see oneself in a  
looking- glass? But that bronze contraption on the mantelpiece, that's another story. I  
suppose there will be times when I stare my eyes out at it, that ball gag. Stare my eyes out— see what I mean?... All right, let's put our cards on the table. I assure you I'm quite conscious of my  
position. Shall I tell you what it feels like? A man's drowning, choking, sinking by  
inches, till only his eyes are just above water. And what does he see? A rubber atrocity, a collector's piece. Don't forget, my man, I've a good notion of what's coming to me, so  
don't you boast you've caught me off my guard. I'm facing the situation, facing it. So  
that's that; no dildo. And no bed, either. One never sleeps, I take it?

VALET: That's so. (the VALET winks at GARCIN and rubs his hand on his thigh absentmindedly.)

GARCIN: Just as I expected. HOW could one sleep?

VALET: Romantic, that's what you are.

GARCIN: I won't make a scene, I shan't be sorry for myself, I'll face the situation, as I said just now. Face it fairly and squarely. I won't have it springing at me from behind, before I've time to size it up. I want to be ready for whatever… happens here. And you call that being "romantic!" So it comes to this; one doesn't need rest. Why bother about sleep if one is enjoying themselves so completely? That stands to reason, doesn't it? Wait a minute, there's a snag somewhere;  
something disagreeable. Why, now, should it be disagreeable? ...Ah, I see; it's life without a break. Constantly pleasing someone. You, if you'd like.

VALET: (flirtatiously) What are you talking about?

GARCIN: Your eyelids. We move ours up and down. Blinking, we call it. It's like a small  
black shutter that clicks down and makes a break. Everything goes black; one's eyes are  
moistened. You can't imagine how restful, refreshing, it is. To be moist. Four thousand little rests per hour. Four thousand little respites— just think!. ..So that's the idea. I'm to live without that moist, dark haven. Don't act the fool, you know what I mean. No eyelids, refreshing moisture; it follows, doesn't it? I shall never rest again. But then— how shall I endure my own company? Try  
to understand. You see, I'm fond of teasing, it's a second nature with me— and I'm used to  
teasing myself. Plaguing myself, if you prefer; I don't tease nicely (he winks). But I can't go on doing that without a break. Down there I had my nights. I slept. I always had good nights. By  
way of compensation, I suppose. And happy little dreams. Dreams with night time virgins and those of… stranger tastes. I used to live for it.. .Is it daytime now?

VALET: Can't you see? The lights are on.

GARCIN: Ah, yes, I've got it. It's your daytime. And outside?

VALET: Outside?

GARCIN: Damn it, you know what I mean. Beyond that wall.

VALET: There's a passage.

GARCIN: And at the end of the passage?

VALET: There's more rooms, more passages, more people, and stairs.

GARCIN: And what lies beyond them?

VALET: That's all.

GARCIN: But surely you have a day off sometimes. Where do you go?

VALET: To my uncle's place. He's the head valet here. He has a room on the third floor. I share it with him… often.

GARCIN: I should have guessed as much. Where's the light-switch?

VALET: There isn't any.

GARCIN: What? Can't one turn off the light?

VALET: Oh, the management can cut off the current if they want to. But I can't  
remember their having done so on this floor. We have all the electricity we want. I like to use it on naughty little boys like you.

GARCIN: So one has to live under this light all the time?

VALET: To live, did you say?

GARCIN: Don't let's quibble over words. To live here, judged by this light. Forever. Always broad  
daylight in my eyes— and in my head. And suppose I took that contraption on the  
mantelpiece and dropped it on the lamp— wouldn't it go out?

VALET: You can't move it. It's too heavy.

GARCIN: You're right. It's too heavy.

VALET: Very well, sir, if you don't need me any more, I'll be off.

GARCIN: What? You're going? Wait. That's a bell, isn't it? And if I ring, you're bound to  
come? To get me off, perhaps?

VALET: Well, yes, that's so— in a way. But you can never be sure about that bell. There's  
something wrong with the wiring, and it doesn't always work. I suppose that's true for all us miscreants down here. Well, I really must go now. Yes, sir?

GARCIN: Very well. You can go.

(GARCIN is by himself. He goes to the bronze ornament and strokes it reflectively. He sits down; then gets up, goes to the bell-push, and presses the button. He wanted the VALET to come back, to give him something to do. The bell remains silent. How frustrating! He tries two or three times, without success. Then he tries to open the door, also without success. He calls the VALET several times, but gets no result. He beats the door with his fists, still calling. All he wants is to be with a man! This place may be purgatory, but that doesn't mean GARCIN can't have some sexy fun, right? Suddenly he grows calm and sits down again. Why not have a good time by himself? GARCIN undoes his belt and reaches into his pants. His fingers were cold, and his sensitive cock shivered a little. GARCIN pulled his penis out into the open air. He was alone. He stroked his cock, encouraging the blood to flow into his meat stick. Looking like an intensely angry worm, or perhaps a hungry mushroom, his penis was hard and ready for GARCIN's lustful attack. At the same moment the door opens and INEZ enters, followed by the VALET)


	2. Inez Pops It

VALET: Did you call, sir?

GARCIN: (About to answer "yes" and invite the VALET to join him, but sees INEZ and hastily stuffs his still solid dick into his pants, quickly saying) No.

VALET: This is your room, madam. If there's any information you require—? Most of our  
guests have quite a lot to ask me. But I won't insist. Anyhow, as regards the dildo,  
and the electric bell, and that ball gag on the mantelshelf, this gentleman can tell you  
anything you want to know as well as I could. We've had a little chat, him and me. (the VALET gazes at GARCIN, a sly look in his eyes. It's clear he means to come back later. His eyes glide over to INEZ and stray down her body, lingering on her breasts.)  
(Exits.)

INEZ: Where's Florence? Didn't you hear? I asked you about Florence. Where is she? Or were you too focused on your cock to hear me.

GARCIN: I haven't an idea.

INEZ: Ah, that's the way it works, is it? Torture by separation. Well, as far as I'm  
concerned, you won't get anywhere. Florence was a tiresome little fool, and I shan't miss  
her in the least. Except the sex. She was brilliant in bed. Or on the kitchen counter. Or the park bench. Anywhere, really. (she looks at him sharply) You seem to be good at that, too.

GARCIN: I beg your pardon. Who do you suppose I am?

INEZ: You? Why, the torturer, of course.

GARCIN: Well, that's a good one! Too comic for words. I the torturer! I can be if you want me to, with pleasure. So you came in, had a look at me, and thought I was— er— one of the staff. Of course, it's that silly fellow's fault; he should have introduced us. A torturer indeed! I'm Joseph GARCIN, journalist and man of letters by profession. And, by the way, how does one recognize torturers when one sees them? Evidently you've ideas on the subject.

INEZ: They look frightened.

GARCIN: Frightened? But how ridiculous! Of whom should they be frightened? Of their  
victims?

INEZ: Laugh away, but I know what I'm talking about. I've often watched my face in the  
Glass while fucking my lovers.

GARCIN: I can assure you I'm not frightened. Not that I take my position lightly; I realize its gravity only too well. But I'm not afraid.

INEZ: I can make you afraid, but that's your affair. Must you be here all the time, or do you take a stroll outside, now and then?

GARCIN: The door's locked. Anyway, if I may venture on a suggestion, we should make a point of being extremely... courteous to each other. That will ease the situation for us both. 

INEZ: I'm not polite.

GARCIN: Then I must be polite for two. How about you? Aren't you afraid?

INEZ: What would be the use? There was some point in being afraid before, while one  
still had hope.

GARCIN: There's no more hope— but it's still "before." We haven't yet begun to suffer.

INEZ: That's so. Well? What's going to happen?

GARCIN: I don't know. I'm waiting for you to tell me how you like it.

(INEZ gazes over at GARCIN. She mostly prefers women, but, under the circumstances, GARCIN seemed quite appealing. Glancing down at his pants, INEZ could see his cock was still erect from his previous work. GARCIN, well aware of her gaze, looked her over. Attractive, definitely. Her powerful personality was abrasive, to be certain. But he wanted to be dominated, and this seemed to be the perfect place to try that out. Their eyes met. Lustful. Thinking. INEZ made her move.

Crossing the room in two strides, she straddled GARCIN's hips and sat forcefully on his hard on. He winced. She smiled. Pushing his arms to his sides, she grinds her crotch aggressively against his chubby bunny. Dominant indeed. Slowly snaking her arms up his tense abdomen, INEZ leaned her face in very close to GARCIN.)

INEZ: Cover your face. I don't want to see it when I fuck you hard. I don't want to see how frightened I am reflected in your submissive eyes.

(GARCIN covers his face with his hands obediently)

(Enter ESTELLE with the VALET. She looks at GARCIN whose face is still hidden by his hands.)


End file.
